


We've Come Here to Heal

by insouciant



Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:51:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insouciant/pseuds/insouciant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A beautiful beach house. A man who was. A man who is. Men who will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Come Here to Heal

 

∞

 

“No, I’m really happy about the place. It’s been frustrating that I haven’t been able to check it out for eight months since the purchase, but I really love the way you took care of it. It looks great.”

 

The rain had stopped only several hours before. The sand is moist under the feet. The gentle waves are always a happy lullaby. They put me to sleep. They put me in peace.

 

“Oh, yeah? Well, I should send my thanks to the person who lived here before me then. It’s beautiful here. It’s the perfect stress-free environment I’ve been looking for. I mean, of course, that’s why I was interested in buying it in the first place, but now that I’m actually here, I’m just… I’m really satisfied.”

 

The sky is still gray. The world is still left with remnants of the storm. There are always little pieces here and there left with broken memories of what had passed. The waves may come and take it all, but not everything. Never everything.

 

“Come on, let’s not talk about that. We already discussed this, haven’t we? I’m completely fine with what happened. I’m comfortable about it. Things like that happen all the time. It’s the people who choose to do what they do, not the house. Besides, this place is too beautiful for me to just let go. Look, I am really comfortable and relaxed here, so please, do not worry about it. I’m fine. I finalized the purchase nearly a year ago, fully aware of what happened here. I’m finally here away from work, away from the city, and away from the people who forget how to have fun in their lives. Starting today, no work calls, or emails, or anything of that sort for me. It’s just gonna be me, this house, and the beach and my laziness for the next two weeks, okay?”

 

Everything is calm at the moment. Not one person passes by. There are no footprints on the sand. The summer has gone and all that is left is a broken sand bucket left by a child. It is a beautiful day. Soon the sun will return.

 

∞

 

The house is relatively small. It’s a house perfect for one or two people. It’s the perfect getaway place. The neighboring house is a 30 minute walk from here and the nearest grocery store is a 15 minute drive. There is no need for Chris to stop by any stores though. He’d already gotten more than enough food, mostly junk food, for the vacation. It’s going to be nothing but rest, rest, and rest for him.

 

∞

 

I still remember the first time I saw the house. It was a few years ago. I had taken a few days off from work for my brother’s family, who had visited to see me. As a close-knit family, I’d been upset for missing numerous family gatherings due to my busy work schedule.  _If you can’t come to us, we’ll go to you._  It was the cheesiest, but most pleasant surprise when my brother called to tell me that he was on his way. So I took my vacation days right then and there, despite my colleagues telling me that it wasn’t a good idea, but I knew whatever I missed, I could make up for them later. I’ve never liked my job, but I knew it was something I was good at.

 

The beach was a two and half hour drive from my apartment in the city. The drive there was pleasant and it still warms my heart today. I tried to teach my niece and nephew one of the classic rock songs I had put on repeat. They managed to learn some of the lyrics by the time we neared the beach and we all sang along together. My brother, my sister-in-law, their kids, the singing, the laughing, and the teasing. They’re great memories that I will treasure for the rest of my life.

 

I remember the sand, warm under the sun. I remember being buried underneath it by my niece and nephew.  _Uncle Chris is a Sandman!_  They shouted and I squirmed under the sand, making silly noises. I promised them that day that as their special Sandman, who loves them very, very much, I’d get rid of all their nightmares and fill their dreams with only the happiest, prettiest things.

 

We had walked along the shore for a couple of hours when I saw this house, a beautiful, small house with the original navy blue paint fading away with time. The small front yard, where little grass and weed grew through the sandy soil, was surrounded by short, white fences and the walkway to the house was made with pebbles. It was a house hidden away from the crowd of vacationers. I vaguely remember a man, sitting on the front porch with a book on his lap, covered in blanket. He was under the shade, his face hidden from me, but I bet he was happy. I bet, at that moment, his mind was at peace.

 

I’ll go out and sit on that same porch. Maybe get some reading done myself.

 

∞

_Open the small picket fence door. Walk a few feet. Enjoy the little lives, struggling to grow out of the sand. They’re weak and fragile, but they continue to grow, green and brave. There are two tiny steps to the front door, but before you go into the house, enjoy the front porch, where there is a comfortable, cushioned, rocking chair with a small table to place your tea, or coffee, maybe even a hot chocolate if you wish. You become unaware of the time passing when you sit there, listening to the waves. You become unaware of the issues that make your heart weary and sick. They sing to you in peaceful melodies and they promise you that they will always return. And they do. Just as often as they leave you, the waves, they always return._

_When you enter the house, you can see the small kitchen area and the cozy living room, where the distance between the television and the couch is only a few feet away. I must say, not so good for your eyes._

 

∞

 

I was asked if I wanted to update some of the old furniture in the house, but I decided rather to keep the house the way it was. I fell in love with the house inside and out and I was afraid that changing anything would take the beauty, hence my love for it, away.

Up the wooden stairs that make a distinct creaking noise here and there, on the second floor, there are two small bedrooms and an even smaller bathroom, where it feels crowded with a single man my size inside. The sink and the tub are old as everything else in the house, but they’re clean and well kept. They will be cleaned and well kept again.

 

∞

 

I set my luggage, which has traveled with me through numerous business trips, on the floor of the bedroom on the left. Both rooms are equal in size and in the furniture arrangements. I chose this room, because it is right beside the bathroom. It’s more convenient.

Actually, I chose this room, because it felt more used, more lived in, than the other one, which I suppose has been used as an occasional guestroom. Someone before me had stayed in this room. Someone before me had lived here and looked out the window, where the waves come and go. Someone had written letters on this desk, or typed their emails, or read a book, sitting on the same chair I’ve been sitting on.

 

I turned the chair around to face the bed. I imagined the person before, the man from my vague memory, deep asleep, covered in the same quilted comforter. There is an unfinished book on the night stand. He moans in his sleep and turns to his side. I cannot see his face, hiding in the shade. Did he ever finish the book he was reading?

 

∞

 

I had taken a short nap soon after settling in the house. It was the first time in a long time that I was able to fall asleep so easily. I felt pleasant warmth spread through my body as if someone had embraced me wholly. It was a comfort that left me wanting for more. I needed it.

 

∞

 

I wake up in the late morning, rolling lazily around the bed and enjoying the softness of the comforter on my bare skin. The pleasure still lingers on my skin. It is another reason I’ve been spending more time in bed. The soft touches had consoled me as I was lulled to sleep. I miss them. I miss the silent consolation.

 

I push my hand under the sheets and reach down. I shut my eyes and relive the moment. I gasp and moan as I buck my hips and rub myself on the fabric, imagining the hands on me again. It’s the thought that someone must be watching that pushes me off the edge and I make a mess on the bed.

 

The book that I left opened last night flips slowly from one page to another. I stare at it as I catch my breath. Maybe it’s the wind that whistles through the crack on the window.

 

∞

 

My body is still tangled under the sheets, enjoying the warmth that comes through the open window. I feel soft fingers run through my hair and hum pleasantly. I finally get up when my back aches from lying in bed for too long. I have never felt better.

 

I munch on the cereal and through the loud noise of my chewing, I hear the stair creak. I swallow in a hurry and turn my eyes. I don’t hear anything. Nothing, but the sound of silence. A smile spreads across my face.

 

∞

 

Before the sun sets, I go on a jog. It is the one and only activity considered healthy and productive as I spend time on the beach house. My feet are heavy as they dig into the sand, but I take that as a challenge and continue forward. I remember walking and running and jumping around with my brother’s kids like it was yesterday, like it was today. Their little footprints so small and endearing as they giggled along.

 

It was a good decision to take a vacation to the beach during the fall. This part of the area is not the most popular to start off with, but with the cooling weather, there are even less people out on the shore. I find only a handful of people, sitting on the sand as I jog by. There are smiles on their faces and they remind me of the days I was here with my family.

 

I reach the neighbor’s house. I knock on the door to introduce myself, but they are nowhere to be seen. I had heard that many houses here are left unoccupied as they only stay during vacations. I shrug and continue my jog back to the house. The shore is left empty. Even the handful of people have gone as the sun sets. It’s just me then. It’s just us.

 

The shade is darker and deeper. There is a man on the front porch, reading a book. His face is hidden from me. The pages flip slowly, one page after another. My jog becomes a run, a sprint. I swing open the fence door. There is no one on the rocking chair, but it gently rocks back and forth through the breeze along the waves.

 

∞

 

Chris sits on the rocking chair after a shower. The wind has gotten colder. He wraps a thick blanket around his shoulders. There is big mug of hot chocolate in his hands. He rocks the chair carefully lest he spills his drink. The waves are constant. They come and go, sometimes calmly and sometimes dangerously harsh. The waves are constantly inconstant then, no one wave the same as the other. Like memories, they come and go, sometimes to make people laugh and sometimes to make them cry.

 

∞

 

There is a man, sitting on the chair in front of my bed. His face shows that he’s calm, but his eyes betray it with a tinge of uncertainty. I try to sit up, but his sharp inhale and immediate defensive posture stop me from doing so. I turn to the side so I can see him better. Never have I been so happy about leaving the night lamp on.

 

“Am I dreaming?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

 

“Who are you?”

 

“I don’t know why I’m here.”

 

The shadows return to his face and I sigh in frustration. I’ve been allowed to study his face for less than a minute and he’s hiding under the dark again. His face is lowered. His shirt is a fading blue, lighter than the color of the house. His slacks are neat in black. The small curls on his hair are my favorite to look at, especially with his face looking down at his lap.

 

“Is that what you were wearing when you died?”

 

The lamp flickers on and off and before I can ask him to  _stop_ , he’s gone at the flick of a light. Then there is nothing but darkness and the sound of waves. I am ashamed and angry. I am disappointed and sad. All those combined, I am confused. I miss the embrace. I miss the gentle touches. I miss them already.

 

∞

 

Chris is on the verge of deep sleep when he feels a presence beside him. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he whimpers, voicing his sadness and blame like a little child does. He wants to turn his body and bury his face on the warmth behind him, but he’s scared that  _he_  will disappear again with a flick of a light, so easily.

 

His voice breaks. He is weeping, because tonight, his constant memory decides to hurt him.  _Little footprints and uncontained giggles. Uncle Chris is a Sandman!_  Chris jerks like he’s about to fall into a deep, dark nowhere. He struggles, clutching to his chest.  _No, no, no, no, no._  He repeats and repeats.

 

It takes time. It always takes time, but this time, it takes him less. The consoling presence behind him has stayed, embracing him, accepting him. His focus has shifted from the past to the present. He is in bed, buried under the quilted comforter, listening to the waves crashing and crashing and crashing and crashing and…

 

∞

 

Chris munches on the cereal as he reads the news on his laptop. His eyes are dry from the rough night before. He scrolls up and down, not really paying attention to the content. The weather looks great outside and he wonders if he needs to wear his hoodie for his daily jog or not. He’s about to go to the weather site when the television turns on and the local weatherman is on screen, warning people about the sudden drop of temperature tonight. He turns his eyes back to this laptop and notices that there isn’t any warning about any temperature drop on the website yet. Chris smiles as he finishes the bowl of sugar sweetened milk.

 

∞

 

“Am I dreaming?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

 

“You said you didn’t know why you were here. Maybe you have some unresolved problems. Maybe you have to resolve them before you go to heaven or something.”

 

“Dying was my resolution to everything.”

 

“Apparently not.”

 

“Then you should learn from my mistake.”

 

∞

 

I push myself under the steamy water. It’s a good feeling being surrounded by warmth from head to toe. The tub is bit too small for me, but I am satisfied nonetheless. My hands reach out from the water to grab onto the edge and I feel his fingers tapping on my arm, carefully and hesitantly. I refuse to come out just yet. This warmth of the tub water is not permanent. In less than half an hour, the water will lose its heat and turn cooler and cooler. The fingers tap me more impatiently. Finally, I push out of the water, coughing and gasping for air. I search busily in the small, steam heavy bathroom for any signs of him. There’s no one. There’s nothing. I am certain, however, that he is looking down at me with judging eyes.

 

∞

 

Chris feels the man’s arms wrapped around his waist. He holds onto them and tries to feel every inch of his skin. He wants to know him by heart. He turns around with a small fear that he may disappear into thin air again, but he is dreaming, is he not?

 

“You’re always around me anyways, so why do you only appear to me in my dreams?”

 

“Who says you’re dreaming?”

 

“Why are you doing this to me?”

 

It sounds like an accusation, but it’s not. It’s a confused appreciation. If the man is capable of turning on and off electronics and make a sound here and there and make himself visible like this, from all the fearful and terrifying things he can do to him, why is he holding him in his arms, embracing him as if to protect him, consoling him as if he understands him?

 

“I believe that you and I have, or in my case, I should say  _had_ , certain  _feelings_ in common. In regard to such  _feelings_ , I am aware of how you will end this course, which I hope very much to be proven wrong.”

 

When Chris opens his eyes, he is there. With his curls slightly messier in bed and his clothes wrinkled more than usual, he is there. His hands are still holding Chris’ wrists, one on each hand, as if he’s worried that he’ll disappear. But why would Chris ever do such a thing? The man understands and he cares and he’s  _constant_  even more so than the waves. To Chris, he is the most beautiful.

 

∞

 

“You are the most beautiful.”

 

“You can’t fall in love with a dead person. I mean, it’s possible, but I’d rather hope you wouldn’t. I’ve seen people fall in love and obsess with historical figures or even fictional characters, but let’s  _not_.”

 

“You’re Tom Hiddleston and you killed yourself in this house in the bathtub around this time two years ago. Your body was found  _relatively_  late by the police. You were on your thirties and you suffered from multiple illnesses, both physical and mental.”

 

I don’t know why. I do  _not_ know why I decided to tell him what I’ve known about him all along precisely at that moment. Somehow inside my brain, I thought that it would be best if I told a ghost about his death mere minutes after telling him he’s the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen. I feel his body go rigid. I feel his hands grip tighter onto my wrists. I sigh and bury my face into the pillow, because I’ve never been the same since… I’ve been messed up since…

 

“Clearly, you’ve done your research before buying this place.”

 

Tom mutters with a small smile, but he never lets go. He never lets go, because he’s constant. I am the inconstant here. I will be the inconstant, leaving, promising words of return until the next vacation. I don’t want to be the inconstant. I don’t want  _to be_.

 

∞

_I want you to be different. Everyone has different stories and everyone has their different reasons, but_ you _are very_ me _. That is precisely why I want you to be different. I am not saying that I regret what I did. I saw no hope and I saw no light. Even today when I look back, I feel more at peace now than I do then. This, however, isn’t a victor’s step forward. This is… This, I must say, is quite like purgatory from books I’d read._

_If I was given another chance and by that, I mean, if I could start everything all over again, then maybe I would have made a different choice. If I was returned to two years ago, however, I would have done the same thing, fully aware of the consequence. Maybe that’s what you’re going through, too, but I hope you take my company as a form of small consolation to your tormented life. I truly hope my company and my consolation can save you._

 

∞

 

Tom has become my routine and it is a pleasant routine to live by. I wake up to the soft melody that he hums beside me. He says he always makes them up and that’s why not one melody is ever the same with the other. Downstairs, he watches me finish two bowls of cereal. He misses eating, he says, and he’s glad of my poor eating choices, because that lessens his longing for eating nice delicacies or drinking good wine.

 

He thanks me for asking the real estate people to leave the place as it was.  _I would have driven mad with boredom if they had taken everything out._  We’ve finished countless of films and multiple series of TV shows, laughing at and laughing with each other. His laughter is the most addictive thing and I’ve been up for anything since the past few days just to make him laugh.

 

Unfortunately, Tom doesn’t leave the house. Contrary to popular belief, he  _can_ leave, except he chooses not to. It makes him uneasy, he says. I persuaded him to walk a couple feet past the fence door with little baby steps, but that was all I could do before he “teleported” back to the house. He’s never done that around me. He’s been insisting to be as  _human_  as possible with me. I chuckled at his wide eyes behind the window.

 

He’s always beside me in bed. He hums his random melodies, pats my belly like a mother does for her child, and wraps his arms protectively around me. He does all these for me, because he knows it’s the most difficult for me when I lie in bed to go to sleep. When I am alone with nothing but the sound of silence and memories crashing in, when my thoughts are the loudest and I feel like I can’t take it anymore, he is there for me to put me to sleep.

 

∞

 

“So what does it feel like to be a constant voyeur?”

 

“It’s entertaining and frustrating.”

 

“Both at the same time?”

 

“Sometimes, yes.”

 

“Give me an example.”

 

“When I watched you jerk off, it was better than anything I’ve ever watched while I was alive. It’s either I had a very bad taste in porn or you’re extremely talented. And well, it was frustrating for obvious reasons.”

 

∞

 

Tom teleports for the second time when he cannot take Chris’ dirty talk any longer.  _You don’t understand that I haven’t had sex for goddamn two years,_  he shouts before he disappears.

 

"I would bend you over the table right here where you love to read and fuck you until your knees give in. Or maybe, I would-”

 

The table shakes as if there is an earthquake and the books on the shelf fall towards Chris all at once. He knows that he’ll find his body full of bruises in the next couple hours, but he can’t help but laugh as he hears Tom shout through the chaos.

 

"You got me so sexually frustrated that my ghostly telekinetic skills are improving!"

 

The ground continues to shake strong enough that Chris nearly trips from his chair, but he grabs a hold of Tom’s waist. They fall together on the wooden floor with a thud, the sound coming only from Chris as Tom is quick to disappear from his arms to the kitchen downstairs.

 

Their chase continues for nearly an hour until Chris gives up and lies flat on the cold floor, whining about his overexerted body. Tom appears beside him in a blink of an eye. He looks down at him with such content eyes as he brushes his messy hair back into place.

 

Chris takes his hand into his and places a kiss. He knows that there is no going back. He knows where he belongs. He knows where he  _wants_  to belong. He smiles in return, but deep inside there is a small fear, growing each day, that tells him that Tom’s satisfied smile may be for a reason different from his.

 

∞

_I really thought that you’d changed your mind. I had been certain that you’d be returning home safe and sound. That was my purpose, or so I believed. There was a spark of desire to have you beside me for as long as this world goes on, but whenever such a spark struck upon me, I had struck it even harder with my conscience._

_In the end, had any of that mattered to you? Was your pain so deeply rooted inside you that you saw no way out? I believed that_ you _were so very_ me _and for that reason, I also believed that I could save you._

_I was wrong and I am truly sorry._

 

∞

 

Chris wakes up and before he even opens his eyes, he notices the lack of Tom’s presence. This has never happened since the first day he settled down. Tom is not with him. He’s not in bed _with_ him. He’s not in the guestroom. He’s not in the kitchen. He’s not on the couch. He’s not on the porch.

_Tom!_  He shouts as loud as he can as he runs along the shore. Tom never leaves the house and he knows it, but a drowning man will clutch at a straw. The waves crash on the sand as if to strike and the autumn wind is biting, getting colder by the minute, but Chris cannot stop searching for him.  _Tom!_  He shouts again and again and again and again…

 

Then he finds him. Miraculously, he finds him. Sitting on the edge right where the waves stop, there is Tom. He seems exhausted. He seems lifeless, something that Chris has never thought of describing him of, despite the fact that he’s a ghost. So he rushes to him, shouting his name in desperation, praying to whoever is listening that he may be fine.

 

His face is full of agony and there are tears to reflect it. His hands are making fists so tight that Chris thinks they’ll bleed soon. He kneels beside him and holds his hands with his as carefully and gently as he can. Tom is  _too_  fragile.

_Tom?_  Finally their eyes meet and Tom is bursting into tears and laughter all at once. He seems so far away from him even with Chris holding his hands. Then he places his hands frantically on Chris’ face, his neck, his arms and legs like a mother making sure her child is alright. Then he is crying and laughing again and Chris feels so lost and helpless.

 

“Sorry, Chris. I had a ghostly existential crisis all of a sudden. I couldn’t stop questioning what my purpose could possibly be. Why am I still here? And when I finally thought I figured it out, I was proven wrong and I am  _still_  here. Never have I felt so utterly helpless and useless in my whole life  _before_   _and_  after my death. But I feel better now. I’ve watched the waves come and go longer than I ever have and that calmed my mind a bit. And seeing you, all fit and good to go, miraculously lifted my spirits up.”

 

Tom rubs his cheeks, red and hurting, in a hurry as Chris helps him get on his feet. He keeps his smile to reassure Chris, who is still very much doubtful of his sudden lighter mood, and walks back to the house. He never lets go his hand.

 

∞

 

Everything goes back to the same after that morning I almost lost Tom. His calm demeanor had returned in no time. I’ve tried bringing up what exactly had led him to break down in such a way, but he’s been determined to keep the truth away from me. It hurts that Tom thinks me incapable of handling the truth, but he’s been aware of my purpose for this vacation and has been persuading me to do otherwise and return to my old life. I should understand that Tom is simply trying to be extra careful around me.

 

Our days feel longer. We wake up, we watch silly channels on the television, we read, we walk on the beach together—Tom has been more fond of stepping out of the house since that peculiar morning—and we go to bed. It’s the same routine every day, but I feel better than ever before. Anything I do with Tom, anytime I spend with him, I feel happy and secure and I never want this to end.

 

∞

 

It is a sudden realization that I have not taken a bath in days. Spending so much time with Tom, I seem to forget that I am still human. I shed out of my clothes as Tom watches curiously, and lustfully, from bed. When my hand turns the door knob to the bathroom, I feel the strong hands pull me away and nearly throw me to the other side of the wall.

I rub my aching shoulders and ask,  _what the hell was that for?_  His answer is unintelligible and my suspicions only grow.  _Tom_. That is all I say and that one word, one mention of his name, his face twists in guilt and pain and he is falling to the ground. It is similar to that peculiar morning if not the same. It is a sudden realization that I may be involved with the truth Tom’s wanted to hide from me.

 

∞

 

“I knew you were getting better, but I also knew that we were running out of time. I kept telling myself that if you lasted the whole two weeks alive then you would return, because then people would start calling you and asking for you and would worry about you. I really just wanted you to live. I wanted you to be different.”

 

“When did I exactly die?”

 

“You died only two days before your vacation was to end. It’s been five days since. Your cell phone is dead and your laptop is turned off. Your friends and colleagues surely must worried and they’ll soon call the police, who will then find your body.”

 

“I don’t know what to say.”

 

“It’s funny, isn’t it? When you die, time flows a bit differently. And memories, too. Some fade away and some stay, growing stronger by the day. I’ve seen ghosts go mad and destroy themselves with their obsession with that one particular memory they couldn’t let go. Several have passed by here before and goodness, they are terrifying.”

 

“I don’t remember anything.”

 

“I don’t remember anything either. I don’t remember anything about the day I died. I’ve only realized I was dead until the police barged into my house. I shouted at them, but they couldn’t hear me. Then there I was in the bathtub. Seeing myself decay, now that’s… that’s a real horror story.”

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

 

“I don’t want you to see that. I don’t… I want you to be different. I know it’s too late, but I still want you to be different. I wish you can be happier through me. And surely, your happiness will bring great delight to my purposeless  _ghost_  life, too.”

 

“I just don’t understand one thing, though. You’ve always been able to touch me, so why couldn’t you when I walked into that bathroom to kill myself?”

 

“I am only as true as you want me to be. You knew I had died in this very house in that very bathtub. When you walked in the first day, you wanted more than anything for me to be true. You believed that I could console your aching heart and you wanted so much to be understood of your torment. I’ve been able to do all that, because you’ve believed that I was capable of doing so. But that day, when you walked into that bathroom and locked that door, I felt myself fading. I was so weak. I couldn’t teleport. I couldn’t turn the door knob. I couldn’t even beg you to stop. Then I woke up. I realized what that meant. I was overwhelmed, so I left, because I couldn’t stand the thought of roaming through this house where we had shared so many good memories,  _happy_  memories, when you were gone and left to decay while I was unable to stop you. So I watched the waves come and go, praying that I’ll fade away through time. Then you showed up, completely oblivious to the fact that you have become a ghost.”

 

“I  _am_  a ghost.”

 

“Welcome to the club, although there’s not much to celebrate about it.”

 

“We literally have an eternity to love the hell out of each other.”

 

“Oh, please, Chris, we were having a serious moment here and from all the things you could say, you say _that_?”

 

∞

 

Chris is on the news several days later after the police had taken his body out. There are still yellow tapes saying  _CAUTION DO NOT ENTER_  all over the fence door, front porch, and the bathroom, but they ignore them, hoping that people will get rid of them soon. The reporter passionately reports that “although a successful stockbroker, Mr. Hemsworth’s life has been falling apart since the loss of his brother’s family in a car accident that he was driving.”

 

Tom leaves trails of kisses along his jaw to distract him. He’s still worried that Chris may become obsessed with his memories that had haunted him the last few years of his short life. When the news is over, he turns his attention to Tom, kissing him in return and tickling him until he’s crying with laughter.

 

Tom tells him that they should watch as much television as they can, because it’s only a matter of time until the electricity cuts off, but Chris can care less at the moment as he unbuttons Tom’s shirt, biting his neck.

 

∞

 

“I’m afraid we’ll have to leave.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I pray that this will never happen, but this poor house has had two people,  _us_ , commit suicide in the span of three years. What if people start spreading rumors about this place being haunted and all the scary people start barging in to do God knows what? No one’s ever going to want to buy this place either and it’s such a beautiful place.”

 

“Let’s not worry about something that hasn’t even happened yet. We’ll leave when that happens, but for now, we’re going to stay here and enjoy having sex on the couch and on the dining table and on the stairs and on the bedrooms and-”

 

“I’m going for a walk.”

 

“Hey, you can’t just teleport away like that!”

 

∞

 

Chris and Tom bicker and tease and kiss as they walk along the shore that continues for miles. They pass by a lovely couple who acknowledges their presence. They happily introduce themselves, explaining their tales of how they died. Not too far from them, little children are running around, throwing sands at each other and Chris’ eyes linger.  _Little footprints and uncontained giggles._ When he turns his attention from them, he finds Tom looking at him with concern.

 

“Don’t worry. I just miss them is all.”

 

“We should go play with them. Do you know how much those kids love talking about how they died? I’m telling you, suicide is considered boring among ghosts.”

 

Chris cannot contain his smile as he watches Tom explain to him about this new world he still needs adjusting to. Tom’s slender fingers are interlaced securely with Chris’ with no intention of ever letting go. Tom understands and he cares and he’s  _constant_  even more so than the waves.

 

“You are truly the most beautiful.”

 

Tom forgets what he’s been talking about. Chris doesn’t remember what it was about either. Neither of them seems to care much though. They tighten their hold and walk forward and they leave  _no_  footprints. The sun is bright, warming their ghostly bodies and lifting their spirits up on a cold winter day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is greatly appreciated; also posted on [tumblr](http://ambiguouslines.tumblr.com/tagged/weve_come_here_to_heal)


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